


You ok?

by peachesatmidnight



Series: 3223 [12]
Category: Call Me By Your Name - All Media Types, Charmie - Fandom
Genre: Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-18
Updated: 2019-05-18
Packaged: 2020-03-07 05:39:24
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,112
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18866845
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/peachesatmidnight/pseuds/peachesatmidnight
Summary: Armie





	You ok?

**Author's Note:**

> The other half of the whole. One shots for a bigger plot.

Armie: Has anyone ever accused you of hiding in plain sight T?

Timmy: How high is too high Arms?

Armie: What the fuck you talkin bout Timothèe ?

Timmy: I don’t know. What are you talking about Armand?

It was just a typical conversation between a totally platonic couple of bros who had spent a lush erotically charged summer together in Italy. No big deal. 

Although lately it’s becoming increasingly hard to hide his attraction to his former costar. He has loved him since Crema. Maybe even before that. He had always loved the man almost a decade his junior. What was the line? 

I didn’t meet him. I recognized him. 

But for Armie it wasn’t he who recognized the kid. His heart and soul did that for him. Why the fuck did he actually have to be a decent human being? He knew he was no good for Tim, he knew his love deserved the fucking world. not some half life with a closeted coward. He had been trying his absolute damnedest to be Mr A-OKAY. He was pretty good at hiding his true self from the world. He was an actor after all. His entire life was based upon playing pretend. For years and years he thought he had it in the bag. He got married, he had kids, he worked at what he loved even when it didn't love him back. it was fine, he was fine. Until it wasn't. Until that fateful summer. 

He had decided to try something new, something that scared and exhilarated him. When he got the script he couldn't wait to begin. He would go and spend one glorious summer getting back to what he loved. Acting for the simple complexity of the act. No car chases, motorcycle crashes, no horseback riding or over the top dramatics. He would go, he would fall in love with the craft again and then he would come home and slip back on the mask of perfection. He was a man of many masks; the mask of model husband, the devoted son, the mask of the action star, the movie star, and probably the most important and most painful mask. The mask of the straight man. 

He had looked forward to dropping all the masks and just embracing himself for a few weeks. Unfortunately, life was never that black and white, never quite cut and dry. Instead it would cut you up and blackout your cries. 

Alright, so maybe he was being a tad dramatic, but it comes with the territory. Thinking his life was complex before going to italy was the equivalent of saying   
“wait, hold my beer, let me show you how it's done.”

Beer, among other spirits of temptation, is what landed him in the mess he was drowning in now. He had agreed to do the gala because it was near mothers day, surely she wouldn't abandon the kids with her parents on such a special day just to fly across the country and put on a fancy dress to smooze because when has she ever done such a thing? Other than that time she traveled a bazillion miles to spend an evening walking the red carpet at his premiere. Or the other time, and the time before that. Fuck he was an idiot. His complete lack of giving a fuck was surfacing, and it drove him to the reefer, the spirits, and the pill. Had he taken something? How many somethings? The fact that he couldn't remember was probably a bad sign. I mean, it's not like she would want to publicise him in such a state. She wouldn't use the opportunity of him being so gone that he forgot to pack his coat. But when he got the text from T, he knew he had fucked up. It was really just par for the course on a list of bad choices and wasted chances. Why would anyone be surprised? Leave it to Armie to fuck up, it's what he is good at, what he’d always been good at. His mom should of just saved her breathe and had a t-shirt made for him that said:  
“I’m Armie, I’m a royal fuck up. Steer clear.” 

Shit, Fuck, Damn! If Tim heard his inner conflict, he’d drop him in a minute. The only thing besides his kids that kept him going was the fact that the man who owned his heart, thought of him as a big brother. Since he had fucked up with his own family, he had vowed not to do the same with Timothee. He would do anything for Tim.   
Timo, Timmy, Lil Timmy Tim, Timotee, Sweet T, Timothee Hal Chalamet. His most favorite strain of THC. His T! ALL his.

“Your what? Husband what are you mumbling about over there? I told you not to mumble, it's embarrassing.”

As his thoughts brought him crashing back to reality, he grabbed the bottle and downed the rest of his beer. 

“Husband!” She hissed. “Don't you think you've had enough? You know how embarrassing it is to be shackled to a drunk.”

Fucking hell, what he wouldn't do to find the damn key. He grabbed a shot of whatever was available and downed it like water. The burn in his throat numbing the fire in his veins and the knife in his heart. He mumbled something about needing air as he shoved back from the table, ignoring her death glare as he made his way outside for a smoke. 

He checked his phone. There were no messages. He was hoping T would have called him out on his little white lie about being okay. But Tim was off doing his thing. Shining like the star that he was. He had better things to do than babysit his older mentor. Fuck he missed him so much. Tim had basically gone radio silent since arriving on location. Armie had scoured all the sites, hoping for a sign. All he had found though, were Tin Hat theories about the two of them, that Armie had wished were true. He wished he could be in the movie, you know the one where the character had found a magic notebook and everything that was written came true. That was a movie right? Or was it just a story? If it wasn't a movie, it sure as shit should be. Maybe he should mention the idea to Brian. It could be the perfect role for T. 

The door opened, jarring him from his thoughts again. Franco comes out to bum a smoke and ramble about what a hit the drinking game was. The drunker they get the more money they spend. Armie tried to pay attention to the man, he really did, he just couldn’t. Something about J just rubbed him the wrong way. Guilt by association maybe? Shit he was talking again, something about his suit? Ah, the suit. The “he’s my lover suit” otherwise known as his favorite suit of all fucking time. He couldn’t even count the number of times he’d worn it. About the same number of times the wife had bitched at him for his supposed fashion faux pas. Now she had a new can of worms to open because since he’d been bulking up more, the suit jacket didn’t quite fit, But he damn sure wasn’t going to stop wearing it. Not with what this jacket meant to him.

Maybe it was the alcohol, or the other substances. Maybe that was just another lie he would tell to justify his behavior. He looked down at his phone again, at the message he’d sent and the lack of a reply. And he hasitily typed out the most truthful words he’d been capable in months. 

I miss your face.

Simple, straight to the point, and harmless because he knew there would be no reply. Timmy didnt post anymore, anywhere. It was rare he even wanted to facetime these days. Something about his hair growing in for the movie, the new muscles he had to put on for the role. He said they didnt look right. That they looked fake. What Tim didnt know, was how desperately Armie needed to see him. All the imperfections he worried about, just added to the beautifully perfect imperfection that was one of his favorite humans. The kid could be bald with a beer gut and he would still be perfection.

 

It was maybe 5 minutes later when he got the message from Swardstrom. Fuck, this was never a good thing. Brian had never been a fan of his, and when Tim had introduced them in Crema and bragged on all his movies, the social network being in his top 5 favorites, hell, the kid had even tracked down one of his very first films, BLACKOUT. Unlike people who claim to be a big fan of his work and so on and so forth, and blah, blah, blah...Most never actually watched more than his first couple of flops. He knew T had watched the 2008 thriller. That cheeky fucker had taken his lick kiss move directly from his elevator nightmare and turned it around on him in Crema!   
Anyway! When he’d been introduced to Brian, via a very excited Timmy, the reception was luke warm at best. 

“Yes Tim, I know of Armie, and his work. It’s nice to meet you.” 

That had been the most interaction they’d had in the 3 years since filming. So when the notification dinged his phone, he braced himself for the worst. Of course he never would of, in a milion years, have expected what the message would contain. His knees decided they no longer wanted to support his massive frame, and he barely got to a chair before he ended up on the floor. The message from the disgruntled manager was actually a picture. A reflection of Tim and Brian in a store window of some kind. Tim throwing up his signature peace sign like all was well. 

Of course that’s how it would appear to the untrained eye. To the millions of fans around the world who would die to just get a glimpse of the wonder that is Timothée Chalamet. To Armie however, the picture was like a punch in the gut. He felt sometimes he knew Tim better than he knew himself, he knew that Timothee, his Timothee, his sweet T, was in pain. Plain and simple pain. He wasnt sure of the reasons, he could lie to himself and pretend it was because Tim missed Armie as much as Armie missed Tim, but that way of thinking would ultimatley lead to disaster. Tim had Will with him over in Budapest, one of his closest friends, maybe more than a friend. He shook the thought from his mind and looked closer at the picture. The tracksuit Tim wore was working well to hide any so called imperfections he knew the kid would be chastising himself over. His hair looked good, longer on top and Elio like on the sides. Armie smiled despite himself, Tim knew how much he liked the longer unruly curls. Armie continually fantasized about running his fingers through the mop of chocolate locks on more occasions than he would like to admit. In typical Timmy style,the one part Armie found to be missing, was his face. As usual, it wasn’t clear in the picture. He was giving him what he needed instead of what he had wanted. Did T know he could do that? Did his Timo know how much it meant to him? Highly doubtful, he scoffed to himself. 

“Husband! do you plan on coming back in tonight? i mean its fine if you dont, its not like you are the MC or something.”

It’s “Showtime” he told himself, he slipping the happy, dutiful husband mask back in place, and stood up on his still shaky legs,to make his way back inside. Glancing at his watch in pure Elio fashion, he noted that he had about another hour to make it through, before he could feign a headache, and make his way back to the hotel suite. hoping beyond hope that she would stay behind to smooze.   
of course he knew the answer would be a bold face fucking lie. but he would get into that more when he was upstairs alone. Maybe he would lock the door and force the man of his heart to facetime with him. But for now he would feign ignorance  
he sent off a quick text before making his way back to the stage. Two words that held so many layers it would make onions cry. 

You ok?


End file.
